Big Bad

Sighted

A drop of water fell from the cloudy sky onto Christopher Glover's head as he read. It dripped from his blond hair onto the page of his book and he brushed it away, concentration not deterred, only interrupted. He sat under the cover of a tall tree reading deep in the forest, and wrote the water off as only dew.

Kit was utterly blissful; there was nothing he loved more than getting lost among the pages of a great writer on a quiet day. Of course it often took him some time to settle his thoughts enough to read, but when he could he fell hard. Everything was peaceful about the woods, it was the only place where the boy was truly at peace

The place had a calming effect on him: the wind as it gently tussled through the leaves, the shade of an old oak tree, or the scurry of a gleeful little squirrel as it gathered nuts from the path. Everything was just as Kit thought it ought to be, and no matter how much anyone tried to dissuade him from going— he always went back to the woods.

Another drop fell and hit directly on the open page of the book. Kit looked up from his reading in mild annoyance to see if he ought to move under a different tree with less dew. One look at the sky confirmed the drops certainly had not been dew, rather they'd been rain. It had been sunny when Kit had gotten to the forest, but while he was reading the sky had darkened over to a foreboding gray color that threatened to pour at any moment.

With one final sigh Kit placed his bookmark between the pages and let Shakespeare's Othello fall to the ground next to his leg. He didn't want to get up. More than anything he didn't want to go back.

It wasn't that he was unhappy. On the contrary he was really very happy back in Belford where he lived with a local priest and his aunt, a senile old nun. But he also felt as if his entire life was under a microscope. Fr. Charles had a great many expectations for him and those of the town had even more. Sometimes Kit worried that everyone in town was just waiting for him to screw up... just looking for him to fail. It was exhausting to be looked at in such a way.

A few more drops prodded at the boy's face, but he paid them little mind. Kit learned to enjoy his own company from a young age. Fr. Charles was often busy and it didn't help that most of the children were afraid to play with Kit for fear he might tattle on any mischief they got up to.

Many people would be frightened to be alone so deep in the forest, but Kit was never lost so long as he was within the forest. He'd spent many forbidden hours crafting foottrails, playing among the trees, and hiding from bullies within the woods. Having gotten lost so many times in his youth, he'd become an adept tracker. Kit knew where the moss grew, how the ground became more treaded and packed down when he was nearing the town, and how to read the underbrush for his own previous steps. Navigating an abandoned forest was not a skill many people were jealous of, but it was the only one Kit would credit himself as having.

Part of Kit yearned not to have to return. Part of him screamed to run into the forest as far as he could and never look back— but that would be wrong. He would hurt a lot of people in the process. He had a duty to return home, no matter how stifling it could be.

By that point the sprinkling of water had grown more consistent and he was being hit by more than a few droplets. He hadn't worried about walking back during a light drizzle, but if it began to rain really hard he might become disoriented. Prompted by the rain he looked down to his watch and sat up with a start: it was a little past four in the afternoon.

He'd been out in the forest for hours without even realizing it, and he was sure just about everyone in town already knew that he was gone. He had promised himself he'd be home by two which would have left more than enough time to get back before Fr. Charles noticed he was gone, but that window had come and gone.